Sanctuary
by Beyond-Society
Summary: The sleeping bags in the sanctuary weren't meant for two people... ShaunDes. Unbeta'd - please R&R and point out any mistakes.


Inspired by saynomore's pic of the same name on y!gallery (http : / / yaoi . y-gallery . net / view / 816675 / (remove the spaces)). This is, so far, the first and only story I've ever started and finished in the same day. Unbeta'd, so please offer feedback and point out mistakes!

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><p>The sleeping bags in the sanctuary were not meant for two people, not by a long shot. Why would they be? None of them needed a two-man sleeping bag, unless Desmond finally decided to jump Lucy's bones, as Rebecca seemed to think he inevitably would. Even then—if Rebecca's powers of foresight proved to actually be functional—they could just spread their two sleeping bags out as a very thin mattress and blanket combo rather than waste money on a new one. As it was, though, Desmond was content to leave Lucy be, and everyone else was content to remain in their own sleeping bags. Or that was what the girls thought, anyway.<p>

"Fuck! That was my spine, asshole!"

"Just stop squirming and let me-"

"Ow! What the fuck, that was on purpose!"

"Stop being such a baby."

"Bite me!"

"Maybe later."

A few feet away from where Lucy and Rebecca were curled up asleep, a small battle was occurring. Desmond's sleeping bag was the field, and the fight was over a certain bespectacled invader trying to worm his way in. The owner of said sleeping bag was hissing out insults and complaints like an overly articulate cat, but the intruder seemed undeterred, replying with calm and chastising whispers. In the darkness of the sanctuary, all that could really be seen of the miniature war was a lump of wriggling shadows, but after a few minutes, the lump seemed to settle down.

"There. Was that so hard?" Shaun asked, holding himself as tight against Desmond's back as he could so that he wouldn't have to feel the sleeping bag straining too badly against his own. Desmond tossed him a glare over his shoulder, teeth bared and too-white in the dark.

"I really fucking hate you sometimes, you know that? I really fucking do," he said, squirming to try and get more comfortable. He felt trapped, caught between the barely elastic shell of his sleeping bag and Shaun's unyielding weight at his back, and he didn't like it. He wasn't sure if it was his own feelings or residual discomfort seeping into him from Ezio and Altaïr, but either way, it was pissing him off. The fact that it was Shaun making him feel that way only made it worse.

Their relationship was on odd one. By day, they would jab at each other and bat insults back and forth like demented verbal tennis balls, but by night... Well, by night, there was this. Sneaking into each other's sleeping bags, hushed arguments that would be swallowed up by stifled moans as hands touched absolutely _everywhere_. Desmond had never considered himself attracted to his own sex—there had been that one night in college, but, come on. It was college—but it seemed that, despite jokes about short-lived relationships with various women, Shaun was gayer than Christmas and he gave the best hand jobs Desmond had ever experienced. Blow jobs, too, on the rare occasions that they could manoeuvre themselves properly without getting too loud. It was strange and almost terrifying, in a way, but Desmond couldn't deny that—after being stuck in Abstergo and then being on the run—having someone's hands, or mouth, on him was just about the most incredible thing he'd ever experienced.

Shaun knew this fact well, and he showed it by being a completely insufferable prick. As he slid an arm around Desmond's middle and pulled him closer, he said, "You have an incredibly foul mouth when you're tired, did you know that?"

"Fuck you," Desmond shot back, squirming again and not sure whether he enjoyed feeling the hard planes of a man's chest against his back instead of the nice, squishy cushion of a woman's. Shaun stilled him by fastening his teeth around the shell of his ear and giving a light tug.

"You know, you're only proving my point," he said, his fingers starting to push up the hem of Desmond's t-shirt. "With how much you wiggle around, it's almost as though you don't want me here. It hurts my feelings, Desmond, really it does."

Desmond rolled his eyes and chose not to respond; he didn't need to go egging the other man on more than necessary and further delaying the actual _pleasant_ portion of their nightly encounter. Another nip to his ear told him that Shaun had noticed his silence, but the lack of bordering-on-unfriendly jibes told him that the other man really didn't care. Shaun was just as eager to get moving tonight as he was, apparently, something that was further evidenced by a leg pushing its way between his own and a soft hand moving further up under his shirt. Shaun's hands were always baby soft, it seemed, especially compared to Desmond's own. It was kind of creepy, but also comforting. It was one more thing to help distract him from the fact that Shaun was, in fact, a man (_Despite all evidence indicating otherwise_, Desmond thought, barely holding back a smile).

The feeling of warm lips on the back of his neck came at the same time as a light pinch to his left nipple and he let out a low hiss, body tense as it tried to decide whether to curl away from the touch or push further into it. Shaun made the decision for him, the hand on his chest holding him tightly in place as it toyed with and tweaked his nipple. Desmond had never really paid his nipples much attention before (except for when he'd been with that one girl who'd been into tit torture. That relationship hadn't ended well), but when Shaun pinched and tugged and rubbed them in all the right ways, it sent little jolts of liquid lightning straight to his dick. And teasing him seemed to have a similar effect of the historian behind him, if the sudden pressure against the back of his thigh was any indication.

That made Desmond squirm a bit again. This was where it always got a bit uncomfortable for him. He was fine with Shaun jacking him or sucking him off, but as soon as he was reminded of the fact that Shaun had a dick too... That kind of squicked him out a little. He did his best to scoot his lower half away from Shaun's, but he wasn't met with much success with the whole two grown men in a tiny sleeping bag thing. Shaun wasn't completely blind, though. Desmond looked back over his shoulder when he felt Shaun shifting, and he saw the Brit propped up on one elbow so that there was some space between his and Desmond's torsos. He had also, thankfully, shifted his hips back as well, so that Desmond no longer had to worry about feeling that ominous bulge pressed up against him.

For a brief moment, Desmond caught Shaun's eye and they just kind of... looked at each other for a long moment. The look of affection on Shaun's face caught Desmond off guard and he frowned a little. That was something he hadn't seen before. Granted, he usually did his best not to look at Shaun during their encounters, but in the few instances that he had, he couldn't remember ever seeing an expression like _that_ on his face. It reminded him, perhaps a little too much, of the looks his (now ex) girlfriends had given him when they'd been in bed together, that look that said way too much but way too little at the same time. He swallowed, wanting to wet his suddenly dry mouth and he started to move again, but he was stopped as Shaun moved first.

The hand on his head freaked him out at first, but when it started stroking over his hair, he felt an oddly pleasant tingle go down his spine. He felt the hand under his shirt moving south, and he shut his eyes when he felt soft fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxers. For the first little while at the sanctuary, he'd worn his jeans to bed, but after the third time or so that Shaun had climbed into his sleeping bag, he'd learned that it was better to go without.

Shaun's lips were on his skin again, this time pressing to the corner of his eye, and he sucked in a hard breath when warm fingertips ghosted over his cock. He swallowed hard before taking a deep breath, trying to keep from making any noise as Shaun slipped his boxers down just far enough to expose him. A shiver ran through him at the sudden lack of pressure on his erection, and he gritted his teeth to hold in a moan as that too-soft hand curled around him. Shaun's mouth was moving, running down along his tight jaw and neck, and he squirmed against the urge to buck into Shaun's hand when the tickle of Shaun's breath on his neck made his entire body shiver.

He managed to turn his next moan into a retrained grunt as the Brit's hand started to move. He gripped his lower lip between his teeth as Shaun slowly, too slowly, slid his fist up and down over his cock, and his legs clamped down on Shaun's leg between them as he, again, tried to keep from pushing his hips forward. He wasn't sure why he so badly wanted to keep from doing it; maybe he didn't want to give Shaun the satisfaction of knowing how much his touch was affecting him. Shaun knew, though. If the feeling of him smirking against the side of his neck was any indication, he knew.

Desmond shuddered as Shaun's thumb rubbed over the head of his cock, curling in on himself slightly as if doing so could help him quell the pleasure washing over him waves. A low gasp was pulled past his lips when Shaun bit at the small patch of skin below his ear just above the curve of his jaw. His toes curled and he choked on a stuttering cry when Shaun gave his cock a light squeeze just below the head.

"You just love this, don't you Desmond?" Shaun's voice washed over his ear along with a puff of warm breath. "Love having me stroke you and touch you..."

For someone who mostly only spoke in insults, Shaun could sound damn sexy when he put his mind to it. Desmond could feel the muscles in his belly and thighs trembling as he tried his best to stay still.

"Fuck you," he said, his voice breathier than he would've liked. "I know you're beatin' off to this back there. You're probably—_ah_—enjoying this more than I am."

"Never said that I wasn't, now did I?" Shaun said. The amusement in his tone was infuriating. "It's a great boost for the ego, knowing that I can turn the high and mighty saviour of us all into a writhing, sweaty mess with so little effort."

Desmond wanted to snip back at him, send some barb his way, but the only sound he could let out was a hiss when Shaun sped the pace of his hand. A moan followed soon after, only barely muffled by the knuckle he shoved into his mouth to quiet himself. Desmond could feel every square inch of Shaun's hand on him, and every slide of skin against skin had lightning zipping up his spine and fire flaring in his belly. It never had the chance to flare too much, though. Shaun was teasing him, keeping up a quick pace before slowing his hand to the point that it was barely moving.

"Son of a bitch," Desmond grated out after the third time or so that Shaun had suddenly slowed down. Shaun laughed against his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Desmond? Not enough?" he said, nuzzling the back of Desmond's neck. Fuck, that condescending tone pissed Desmond off so much. It was unfair that Shaun got to tease him so much but he never got to do anything in return. After a moment, Desmond decided that now was the time to change that.

Taking a moment to steel himself, he rolled over as quickly as he could within the cramped confines of the sleeping bag. The look of shock on Shaun's face was beautiful, and Desmond couldn't keep the near feral grin off his face as that look faded into a look of absolute bliss when he took hold of the other man's cock.

He hesitated for a second, then, apparently just realizing what he was doing. He had his hand on another guy's dick, _Shaun's_ dick. A wave of revulsion washed over him and he almost jerked his hand away, ready to shove Shaun out of his sleeping bag and never let him in again. But something about the look on Shaun's face—the expression of pure slack jawed, eyes-rolled-back pleasure—made something not unlike triumph fill him, knowing that he'd turned the tables and that he could bring a look like that onto Shaun's face. Snarky, snippy Shaun. And he hadn't even started moving his hand yet.

Taking a deep breath, Desmond gave an experimental stroke. It was strange, but familiar, the way Shaun's cock felt in his hand. It really wasn't that different from his own; there was the same heat, the same throbbing pulse just below the skin. It was a little shorter, he noted with no small amount of satisfaction, but it really was much the same. There was no flare of pleasure in his gut when he started pumping his hand, though. Instead, he saw Shaun's face contorted with the effort to not show how much pleasure _he_ was feeling. Desmond smirked.

"Enjoying yourself?" he said. Shaun glared and didn't reply. Instead, Desmond was drawn to gasp again as Shaun took him roughly back in hand, giving a few quick pulls. Desmond gritted his teeth and made the decision that he wasn't going to be outdone. Despite the fact that having Shaun jerk him off was _incredibly_ distracting, he did his best to work Shaun's cock in return. The motions came naturally—every twist of the wrist, every squeeze, every touch to the sensitive head—and he was surprised at how soon he had Shaun rocking into his hand. Though, by that point, he was pretty much bucking into Shaun's hand as well.

He didn't realize that Shaun had moved closer until he felt Shaun's face buried in his neck and the historian's length pressed flush against his own. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his entire body giving a startled twitch. The twitch was quick to fade into pleasured trembling, though, and he found himself clinging to Shaun as the other man batted his hand away from his cock and took hold of them both. He had no idea why, but having Shaun's erection pressed up to his was driving him crazy. He could feel Shaun's pulse through his dick, and, soft as Shaun's hands were, they had nothing on the silky skin that was now moving against him.

Desmond's hands fisted in Shaun's shirt and he moaned, eyes squeezing shut as the lightning racing through him grew in intensity. He rocked against Shaun, shuddering at every pump of the other man's fist, and he could feel his guts tightening almost painfully. He felt like his skin was on fire and the sweat that was making his shirt start to stick to him did nothing to help ease the heat. He could feel Shaun's hot breaths against his neck and hear his quiet moans and gasps close by his ear. Shaun's hand was moving faster and felt slick as it slid up and down their lengths. Desmond cursed, his forehead pressed into the Brit's shoulder, and he grit his teeth as that oh so familiar feeling pooled in his groin.

A weak moan pushed out of his throat as he came, and his hips bucked against Shaun's with every pulse of pleasure that shot through him. On the edge of his hearing, he could hear Shaun whispering curses before he felt the other man's cock throbbing as he, too, reached his peak. It was a strangely pleasant feeling, but also _really_ weird. He couldn't bring himself to care too much, though, as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed and he relaxed in a sated heap next to the other man.

For a long moment, neither he nor Shaun moved or spoke, the only sounds coming from them being their heavy breaths. Then, sluggishly, Shaun started pulling his underwear and pants back up, wiping his hand off on a tissue that he'd pulled from one of his pockets. He took a deep breath and wiggled his way out of the sleeping bag with much less difficulty than he'd had when he'd been trying to get in. Desmond could see Shaun looking down at him as he stood, and he looked as though he was going to speak. He apparently thought better of it, though, and just walked back over to his own sleeping bag and slipped inside. Desmond watched him for a little while before he shook his head. There would be a Conversation—with a capital "C"—later, he knew, but he could deal with that when it came about.

He rolled over, turning away from Shaun and trying to get comfortable again, but paused when he caught sight of Altaïr's statue. He knew he must have been seeing things, but in the dark, it seemed as though it was looking at him. And that statue had never looked so damn smug. Glowering, Desmond gave the statue the finger.

"Fuck you, grandpa. It's not like you never got down with Malik, so don't gimme that look," he said. The statue, of course, didn't reply. Desmond nodded to it before snuggling back down. "That's what I thought. Dirty old man..."

The statue still said nothing, but watched with that same smug face as the sanctuary fell silent once again.


End file.
